


THE MODERN ECTOBIOLOGICAL FAMILY

by tepidAnathema (rainw3tered)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/F, Gen, Image Heavy, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, dunno what to tag, no beta we die like men, not sure if the gamzee tag is truly applicable but i'm sure it's fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:33:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainw3tered/pseuds/tepidAnathema
Summary: Dirk Caliborn-Strider, renowned family man and loving husband and father, discovers that his ectobiological relatives and in-laws have nowhere to go. In a bout of kindness, he welcomes them into his home.[Image/art heavy.]
Relationships: Caliborn/Dirk Strider, Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 26
Kudos: 97





	1. WELCOME HOME.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is somewhat non-linear.  
> next update: uh. sometime eventually ™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bRuH

.

.

.

Your name is **GAMZEE CALIBORN-STRIDER** , but "Gamzee" doesn't really jive with you. It ain't really your thing, if a bro gets what you're tryin' to say.

You go by **GAMZ**.

Normally, you like to think you're pretty chill. A man's gotta keep his cool, like your father always says. Can't be lettin' all the bitches get up in your grill. And boy are there a lot of motherfuckin' bitches, if you're up and listening to what your dad learns you.

Your father sometimes says you shouldn't be listening to him, though. More specifically, he says your dad's criminally insane, and more than a little evil. 

Honestly, you're not sure you disagree with either assessment. 

It's cool, though. It's no big deal. Your dad can be evil, and that's alright, 'cause you ain't about to kick up a fuss. Why would you? Evil or not, man's still the most bitchtits dad around. Just like how your father's the most bitchtits father.

Truly, you lucked out with your family. 

Shit's almost downright miraculous, 'xcept you don't believe in miracles unless you're the one making them. 

Still. Even though he's wicked cool, you're not supposed to listen to everything he says. You know that. Father often reminds you that taking what dad says at face value is a bad life choice, on account of the minor detail of his moral bankruptcy. You try not to, even if it sometimes seems like dad's making perfect sense about everything. 

And normally, you wouldn't. 

BUT.

Today, you're seriously considering it. You're giving it a hell of a thought, and the idea's been rattlin' about your mind for hours. You're not seein' enough downsides to turn you away. 

Maybe you should do what your dad recommends, because. 

You are one motherfuckin' minute away from slashing your shitty katanaclub through your adoptive sister's — half-sister's? You don't really know — bitchy, ANNOYING-AS-FUCK head.

Your father would sigh disapprovingly. Your dad would say, "SISTERS ARE MADE TO BE KILLED. MAKE THE BLOOD A FOUNTAIN. IT'S MORE ARTISTIC. THAT WAY." 

**== > Gamz: What the everloving FuCk? Be someone ELSE.**

That can be obliged. Let's turn the clock back a few cycles.

Your name is **Dirk Caliborn-Strider** , and life is sunshine and rainbows. Everything’s going just swell. You live with your happy, loving family in a charming, quaint, five-and-a-half-story McMansion with a white picket fence. Sure, you alchemized half the parts and hired carapacians to put together the rest, but that fence? Pure labour, hard work, and most importantly, grist.

Yeah, you alchemized the fence, too. Still, fiddling around with the punch cards to make it come out the right degree of slightly-weathered took a few minutes.

Anyways, where were you? 

**== > Dirk: Examine the family portrait upon the fireplace mantle. **

Right, the family. 

You're a family man, of course. Nobody's more of a family man than you. After the Game ended and you were spat out onto the new world, you knew what you had to do and you did it.

Like so many other young men, you fell in love over a lengthy courtship. Days after you met him (again), you took him to church (not literally) and eloped with his swooning heart in your arms (again, not literally). 

You’ve been in matrimonial bliss ever since.

With your adopted son, pet android, and various other household members, you’re but a measly inch away from living the ideal nuclear lifestyle — and in your opinion, you’d rather stay where you are.

So when your beloved ecto-daughter calls you out of the blue with a polite request for room and board, you, of course, cheerfully oblige.

I _said_ , you cheerfully oblige.

**== > Dirk: Pick up the call. **

DIRK: Rose.   
ROSE: Father.   
DIRK: My beloved ecto-daughter. To what do I owe this pleasure?  
ROSE: I've recently come to the regretful discovery that I seem to be lacking a house.   
DIRK: Oh?   
ROSE: Yes.   
DIRK: Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure you have a house.  
ROSE: I had a house.  
DIRK: Had.   
ROSE: It was misplaced.  
DIRK: I was unaware that you were in the business of misplacing houses.   
ROSE: Then it gladdens me to be the messenger, though the levity of my spirits are yet quelled by the anguishing news that I've just delivered.   
ROSE: Anyway, we're moving in. 

DIRK: What?   
DIRK: I must have misheard. Can't believe these god tier ears are wearing out on me already.   
ROSE: That depends on what you heard.   
DIRK: Did you say you were moving in?   
ROSE: Yes, father. After all, who else should one turn to when bereft of a home and in need of help if not their very own kin, and who better to ask than one's progenitors?  
DIRK: Why not Roxy?  
ROSE: She and Jane recently had another spat.  
DIRK: Still, Roxy’s a lot more of a mom than me.  
ROSE: Dirk, Vrissy already has two mothers. She’s hardly in urgent need of another.  
ROSE: And Roxy's relationship drama isn’t the healthiest thing to expose a budding adolescent to, particularly with Jake now in the mix.  
DIRK: …  
ROSE: Still a sensitive subject? If it were any other time, I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it. You’ve been married for thirteen years already, you know.  
DIRK: Stop trying to prod your grubby armchair-therapist tentacles into my mind, daughter. We’ve already exhausted the topic. Extensively.   
ROSE: If you insist, father.  
DIRK: I do.   
DIRK: Look. Haven’t you got, I dunno, somewhere else to go?  
DIRK: We’re literally gods. Surely you can requisition a house. Martial-order it, or some shit.  
DIRK: Fuck, someone'd probably even pay you to use theirs.   
ROSE: I have morals.  
DIRK: You like to _appear_ as though you have morals. It’s not the same, even if you convince yourself otherwise.   
ROSE: Now who’s the one partaking in unnecessary amateur psychoanalysis?   
ROSE: In any case, my morals, or alleged lack thereof, are irrelevant. I’ve decided that it would be good for Vrissy to get to know more of her family. And who better to start with than her grandparents?  
DIRK: We’re the same age.  
ROSE: Does it matter?  
DIRK: You know who I’m married to, right? Are you certain you want to try the whole family bonding shtick with us?  
ROSE: Expect us on Monday.   
DIRK: Today's Monday.   
ROSE: So I've gathered. Could you answer the door, please? 

The doorbell rings.


	2. HAPPY TIDINGS.

==> DIRK: REWIND TO A DECADE AND CHANGE EARLIER.

That's cool with you. You're not Dirk anymore, though.

Your name is **Dave Strider** , and you've just woken up at half past twelve. It's a regular day on Earth C. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you can hear Karkat cursing the air blue from the basement. Or grey, you guess.

DAVE: mornin  
KARKAT: FUCK.

DAVE: huh  
DAVE: yeah good morning to you too sweetheart  
KARKAT: GOOD AFTERNOON, DAVE.  
KARKAT: COULD YOU LEND ME A HAND AND GRAB THE MAIL? I’M KIND OF BUSY RIGHT NOW.  
DAVE: the mail 

DAVE: karkat we dont even get any mail aside from like  
DAVE: the ten different gossip mags you subscribe to that all arrive at different points in the day because apparently competing carapacian magazines have to hire competing carapacian couriers too  
DAVE: i dont even know why you bother buying them  
DAVE: its not like the rags have anything good its probably just more celebrity scandals or whatever garbage  
DAVE: hell shit dont even qualify as scandals cause theres nothing quality  
DAVE: they just print stupid bullshit all day and half the content is probably just englishs ass and nobody actually needs to see that much english ass in grainy third world newsprint 

DAVE: yknow like yeah its a nice ass but honestly ive seen better   
DAVE: its kind of overrated as far as famous asses go i mean like   
DAVE: okay i get it really things got a nice soft curve to it and you can kinda imagine how far a coin would sink into it but it still just isnt quite THAT good you know its just

KARKAT: DAVE CAN YOU JUST PICK UP THE FUCKING MAIL.  
KARKAT: ALSO, FOR THE RECORD, I ONLY SUBSCRIBE TO EIGHT SOCIETY PERIODICALS. THE OTHER *THREE* ARE REGULAR GODDAMN NEWSPAPERS, FUCKFACE. 

**== > Dave: Get the mail.**

DAVE: ugh ok i guess ill get it   
DAVE: why not  
DAVE: lets see its almost quarter to one that means its time for the consort right  
DAVE: ill fetch you the consort karkitty dearest  
DAVE: despite all its failures  
DAVE: which there are a lot of bee tee dubs  
DAVE: whole thing is practically a gigantic fucking montage in the name of failure and frankly i cant believe theyre still in business its completely bewildering  
KARKAT: THE *MAIL*, DAVE.

DAVE: alright alright dont get your panties in a twist

DAVE: the mailbox is right THERE why do they never use it

DAVE: wonder what shits on the cover again  
DAVE: if i get another faceful of englishs plush rump i swear to god im gonna fly right off the handle and over to their stupid ass press and voice all my complaints face to carapace, mano a mano this shit  
DAVE: haha ass press  
DAVE: but yeah its pretty bouncy but is it really front page material for five days in a ROW??  
KARKAT: JESUS CHRIST.

DAVE: chill dude dont give yourself an aneurysm i got it already im just taking a look  
DAVE: just flipping through it and  
DAVE: ... 

KARKAT: AND? AND WHAT?

DAVE: ...   
KARKAT: DAVE?

KARKAT: DAVE, ARE YOU JUST READING THE NEWS THERE?  
KARKAT: CAN YOU AT LEAST SHUT THE DOOR? YOU’RE LETTING IN THE GODDAMN BITEBUGS.  
KARKAT: FOR FUCK'S SAKES. YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE THAT PAPER.

DAVE: brb karkat gimme ten  
KARKAT: DAVE, CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR BEHIND YOU.  
KARKAT: DAMMIT, WHAT THE HELL? DAVE? DAVE! 

As Karkat stomps up and out of the basement to close the door after Dave’s quick exit, Dave flashsteps back to the kitchen. His heart is pounding. He can feel his blood in his eardrums, but he’s not afraid. No, what he’s feeling is an entirely different emotion.  
He draws a deep breath, makes up his mind, and shores up his resolution. It’s now or never, and he’s going to be a man of action.

DAVE, YOU KNOW WHAT MUST BE DONE.

==> [S] DAVE: LOSE YOUR SHIT.

STOP LOSING YOUR FUCKING SHIT SO YOU CAN ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING, ASSHOLE.

Right. The tinny voice screaming in the back of your mind has a point. You’re not sure where it’s from, or why it’s even there, and actually, come to think of it, it’s pretty rude for it to just be living rent-free in your head without even bothering to give you the slightest bit of a warning before screeching at the top of its lungs, but you’re going to shelve that thought for the moment.

**It’s time to get down to business.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cut my overly-long chapter with too many images into two parts. shit was getting to like 40 pics, and enough was enough. next part will be out shortly.


	3. MAYBE. WE FOUND LOVJDFJGK. RIGHT WHERE WE ARE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EXCEPT. I DON'T KNOW IF IT'S LOVESSLKJDFJ. NOT BECAUSE I AM WHAT YOU WOULD CALL. UNAWARE. BUT BECAUSE LOVSWJFDSKLJF. IS A DISGUSTING NOTION. BORN FROM HUMAN WEAKNESS. AND OBSESSION WITH SACCHARINE GARBAGE.
> 
> THAT IS TO SAY. "LOVESGDSJKLD". IS FOR WOMEN AND BITCHES. WHICH ARE ALSO SYNONYMOUS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm

==> Dave: Pester Dirk.

No shit, Sherlock. That's what you were just about to do before you were interrupted.  
Now, can a guy message his ecto-bro-dad in peace, or what?

.  
.  
.  
.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TG: dude what the hell   
TG: youve got to be shitting me  
TG: do you know what it was like waking up to this  
TG: getting up pouring myself a coffee paging through impressively milquetoast consort garbage just like every other day except its NOT just like every other fucking day because oh would you look at that my bro got married  
TG: sweet   
TG: i mean i didnt even know you had someone and now that i think about it i guess i thought you were still mooning over jake but damn son i cant believe i wasnt even invited to the wedding  
TG: hell i had to find out via goddamn gossip mags so pardon my french i know we dont really do the whole real feelings shit around here because subsurface-level emotions are for irony-deficient cretinoids but im kinda feeling a lil tiny eensy weensy bit of familial abandonment to say the least  
TG: but you know whatever dont mind me getting bent out of shape its just that time of the month  
TG: you go man i guess  
TG: or at least thats what id say IF YOUD GOTTEN HITCHED TO LITERALLY ANYONE ELSE  
TG: hell you couldve married yourself couldve gotten properly connubial with you yourself and more you  
TG: i wouldve written you an epithalamium jazzed it right up with some sick beats  
TG: but caliborn  
TG: CALIBORN???   
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] is now an idle chum! --

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
==> Dirk: Wake up. Someone's pestering you. 

  
  
  
  
  
Five more minutes.  
  
  
  


  
  
==> WAKE UP.  
  
  
DIRK: . . .    
  
  
  


DIRK: It's too bright. 

And good God, it really is way too fucking bright. Despite your shades, the light shines insistently into your eyes thanks to the shitty, reflective ersatz-fabric the entire room seems to be carpeted in. Yeah, carpeted. Even the ceiling is an unrelenting, fuzzy neon orange eyesore, because whatever sick fuck had decorated the room had apparently also thought a gleaming shag rug ceiling to be the zenith of home improvement.

You ignore the inconvenient fact that you are almost entirely certain that you are the sick fuck in question. A small fraction of your memory is ever-so-slightly blurred, and you grasp at it as an excuse; you'd rather pretend not to know that you made such a choice. However, there is but a marginal degree of comfort to be found in your inebriation-induced memory problems consoling you for your poor decisions, and the little that is there is almost entirely eviscerated by the greater physical discomfort brought about by — entirely unsurprisingly — your former inebriation. 

A desert has taken up residence in your mouth, and your tongue feels like yet another equally ludicrous and ill-placed carpet to add to your recently-founded collection. Rolling over would crush your shades, and you don't trust your normally agile reflexes to keep you from making that mistake at the moment. But if you can't roll over, you also can't bury your face into your pillow. Instead, you're subjugated to the sunlight that streams through your woefully uncurtained (and also uncarpeted) windows. Once again, you lament the fact that someone — probably you — chose to forgo drapery to carpet the fucking _ceiling_ , of all things.

You feel like complete shit. 

A notification flashes assertively in the bottom left corner of your shades. Lucky you. You've got mail.

.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
  
TT: Good morning to you too, Dave.  
TT: There was no wedding. We had a civil marriage and eloped, effectively.   
TT: You should know this if you read the rest of the article.   
TT: I was told it'd be on the second page.

TG: bro i have your pics right here and my eyes are telling me you were in a goddamn gown in the middle of a fucking forest all prettied up for a slightly poor mans ultrasatan  
TG: dont you dare *there was no wedding* me  
TG: look at this shit youve even got a fucking tiara on

There's no way you're getting out of bed for a bad newspaper, so you settle for the next best alternative and tell a bold-faced lie. And by next best, you mean vastly superior. It's not like Dave'll know either way.

TT: Can't. I haven’t gotten the Daily Consort yet. Our courier’s kind of shitty.

TT: And it ain’t bull. We took a photo and greenscreened ourselves into an appropriately scenic backdrop before sending the picture to the press.  
TT: Caliborn picked. That’s why we’re standing in the middle of a fuckin’ lake, dude.  
TT: Just two bros, chillin’ in Photoshopped water, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay.  
TT: Except we’re not bros, he was making a grab for my tulle to figure out what it was, and I’m gay.  
TG: what about caliborn   
TT: What about him?  
TT: Oh, the tulle? Not a fan, apparently. Says it's too scratchy.  
TT: It kind of snagged on his...scales? Or skin, or chitin or whatever, when he brushed past it.  
TT: He ripped the train off of my gown. It was pretty devastating. Then he tore the rest to bits for good measure.  
TT: How am I supposed to be a properly wedded wife if I can't save my dress to fawn over for the next three decades as I gradually age out of it despite the fact that I will never properly age, only to bemoan it not fitting when I inevitably have a midlife crisis at the young age of forty-three and need to relive my lost youth?   
TG: no not that  
TG: is *he* gay  
TT: Oh. 

TT: Fuck if I know.   
TT: Your guess is as good as mine.  


TG: what  
TG: the guy is literally already your husband shouldnt that be one of the things you already know  
TT: Well, you see,  
TG: ok whatever yknow what stop

TG: fuck him and fuck the fucking article too who gives a damn about the stupid earth c tree-razing pet project some dumb cunts have come up with  
TG: and besides its not like i can actually SEE the lake do you know how shitty the print came out   
TG: you think i recognize what slightly different reflective brown tones are supposed to mean in a picture undersized for baby ants  
TG: oh yeah that ones marginally shinier whoa hold on i know it must be WATER damn i shouldve known you could tell by the considerably bluer jpeg artifacts except as it happens theyre not that much more blue at all   
TG: turns out low quality greyscale newspapers dont get any better when you give them color photos to print  
TT: To be fair to the papers, it wasn’t an excellent image to begin with. The resolution was pretty bad.   
TT: We took the picture with a disposable.  
TG: what the hell why would you take your wedding photos with a 

TG: ok no not AGAIN   
TT: stop distracting me jfc  
TT: You're doing it to yourself.   
TT: But sure.  
TG: no  
TG: back on track  
TG: why did you marry CALIBORN  
TT: We are in love. Haven't you heard how we rock each others' worlds?   
TT: Literally.   
TG: shut the fuck up dirk  
TG: caliborn isnt a fucking skater boy  
TG: hes evil   
TG: like capital E evil the guys practically the devil, threw us into the ninth circle of his inferno  
TG: he wouldve killed any one of us and laughed his way to the bank and you know it  
TG: hell he DID kill us he killed a lot of us   
TT: That version of him ceased to exist after we defeated him.   
TT: Caliborn Caliborn-Strider has never been and will probably never be Lord English. 

TG: caliborn caliborn-strider

TT: Caliborn Caliborn-Strider, yes. 

TG: bro  
TG: i  
TG: i am on so many levels of what the fuck this isnt even funny anymore   
TT: It's his name. Would you begrudge a man his name? 

TG: yes  
TG: definitely   
TG: no question about it   
TT: Hm.   
TT: He's also your stepfather, you know.   
TT: Would it kill you to have a little generational respect?   
TG: once again empathetically  
TG: *yes*  
TG: also if you start calling me son i swear to god were gonna throw hands  
TT: Alright.  
TT: In the interest of not wishing for this chat to devolve into more of a petty e-catfight than it already has, I'll hold off.  
TG: yeah well in the interest of not being a complete fucking chode ill also "hold off" 

Dirk pauses to increase his image quality in order to deliver his incredibly serious and important statements with the prerequisite affect they so urgently demand.

TT: Huh? What was that?  
TG: you want an epitaph to your assholery or something  
TT: No, didn't you feel the -  
TT: Oh, nevermind.  


TT: Look, Dave.   
TT: So I got married, so fucking what. I don't see why it has to be a capital fuckin' issue.  
TT: Rose and Kanaya got married last year. Didn't hear you throw a shitfest over that.   
TG: yeah youre right i didnt lose my shit over rose and kanaya  
TG: maybe because kanayas a nice sweet troll girl that rose has been dating for YEARS and not the evil megalomaniacal devilspawn with natural inclinations towards violence and sororicide that you picked up out of fucking nowhere and decided to put a ring on for some godforsaken reason   
TT: Can any of my reasoning really be godforsaken if I am a god? That seems a little inherently fallacious, doesn't it?  
TT: Anyways, he's my husband, not yours. It ain't your problem, broski.   
TG: ok but  
TT: Plus, you're being a little xenophobic. Why is it fine if all of you shack up with trolls, but _I_ marry _one_ cherub and shit hits the fan?   
TG: what  
TG: were you planning on marrying more  
TG: no wait just  
TG: uggghhhhh  
TG: christ on a cruller youre impossible  
TT: Just give the guy a chance, bro.   
TT: He's not that bad once you get to know him.  
TT: And no, I wasn't.  
TG: dirk i just read the article and i quote  
TG: "he almost shot the clerk but was tackled in the nick of time" does not sound like the type of guy i want to just casually get to know  
TG: pretty much the exact fucking opposite actually  
TT: Honest mistake. The clerk was wielding his pen aggressively.  
TG: bro one day the guy almost getting shot will be you except it wont be an almost  
TG: youll just be shot straight up  
TG: he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed and youre breathing aggressively  
TG: bam dead dirks as far as the eye can see  
TT: We sleep in separate beds.  
TG: thats not the fucking point man and you know it  
TT: Is it really necessary to persist with the excessive dramatics?  
TG: was it really necessary for you to marry a murderous wannabe hobgoblin  
TG: hell you dont even sleep together so theres subzero reason youre not even getting a piece of that hot green ass  
TG: is it a hot green ass  
TG: wait no dont answer i dont wanna think about my stepfather-who-also-happens-to-be-midget-lord-englishs ass thats almost like thinking about my fathers ass which is -

Pause the track.  
Bad news, Dirk. We're facing economic backlash from the stunt you just pulled. Or rather, the stunt we pulled on your subconsciousness's behalf.  
The markets are tanking. The stocks are dropping. There's no other way out of it.  
  
We're gonna have to lower the production value.

  
  


TT: Hold that thought for a second.  
TT: Do you suddenly feel incredibly, inexplicably shitty and ever-so-slightly illegal right now? 

TG: what  
TG: look if youre trying to make me feel bad about freudian slips it wont work i didnt even mean that one  
TG: on a scale of zero to hot moms it barely even ranks  
TG: plus roses already staked a claim to that territory youll have to duke it out with her if you want a share of my unconscious minds dicklusting guilt  
TT: Not that.   
TG: then what   


TT: Just. I don't know how else to describe it. An incredible sense of excessively overwhelming shittiness.  
TG: is the backlash from marrying a complete psychopath in utter secrecy finally getting to you  
TG: its never too early for a divorce  
TG: the office should still be open you can get it done before the sun sets 

==> Dirk: Reflect on your shittification. Realise its cause. Discover the truth. Achieve your Ultimate Self.

Unfortunately, at the present moment, our stalwart, intrepid young protagonist finds himself too hungover to even contemplate the spirit of following such nebulous commands, much less obey them. Faintly, some portion of him recognizes that he is feeling a malaise that seems entirely unlike those described in the many anecdotal stories of hangovers that he has previously read. However, he currently lacks the prior personal experience and presence of mind required to distinguish the truth of the matter, and seeing as there is no other obvious solution, he decides to consider the hangover the de facto cause in spite of his doubts.  
  
His head aches, and the white glow of Pesterchum sears his retinas from his shades. The shitty jpeg fragmentation radiating from the poorly alchemized sheets is finally beginning to get to him. The mess of the room that he's in — an unpleasantly disorganized mess, or, more aptly, an absolute fucking disaster — grates on his every nerve.  
  
Helpful as always, Hal takes the opportunity to inform him that he's not doing so hot.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TT: You called?  
TT: Fuck off.  
TT: Anyways, I just ran the numbers, and according to my totally rad algorithms, there's a 99.98% chance you're not doing so hot.  
TT: I hadn't realized.  
TT: Yeah, that's why I thought you ought to know. Ta-ta.  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

He closes the new Pesterchum window, but his eyes glaze over at the sight of more rows upon rows of red text waiting for him. The thought of enduring more of his ectobiological brother-son's passionate attempts to convince him to abandon his state of marital felicity makes Dirk wince, albeit only internally.  
  
How fortuitous it is for Dirk, then, that even as he contemplates the necessity of continuing a futile conversation wherein he will only continue to further dodge the mere notion of his marriage possibly being an issue, his saviour gracefully draws nearer.

The door slams open with a bang. Light pours into your room from the hall beyond. This would be perfectly fine if not for the fact that, last you checked, all of said hallway's lights were fried. Also, it amplifies the glossy lustre of your unfortunately furnished room. Your awful headache has climbed its echeladder to reach "thundering migraine".

Nothing makes enough sense, and you long for the sweet, merciful embrace of ibuprofen. And despite having expected this to some degree, you still find yourself regretting your choice of indulging in an inadvisable amount of social lubricant.

CALIBORN: DIRK. 

For some reason, you suspect that ibuprofen is not what Caliborn has on his mind, or in his claws. This is unfortunate news, because you are also coming to the discovery that you appear to be two steps from vomiting. Maybe one-and-a-half. You've been teetering on the brink the whole time, really, but the sudden interruptions have brought the feeling to the forefront of your mind. Your sensibilities and restraint are fleeing the fortress bareback, and if you can't prostrate before a porcelain goddess within the next two minutes, you will be damnatio ad bestias.

Optimism has never been your forte, and so you wonder why it had decided to make a brief and unwelcome house-call to you this morning. Afternoon, whatever. In any case, enough is enough. You don't plan on engaging it for any longer and risking your hard-earned grist. You'll get back to Dave another time.

Preferably when he's done with the histrionics.

TG: and look all im saying is that a word of warning wouldve been nice like maybe just maybe  
TT: Gotta run.   
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
  
TG: what  
TG: did you just  
TG: i wasnt fucking finished  
TG: goddammit  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

Your name is **Dave Strider** , and you are feeling ever-so-slightly put out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> postin this now cos if i keep editin ill never post it. no idea what happened to the tone. dipped toes in css pool and then ended up not even using some of it. gee willikers.

**Author's Note:**

> not abandoned, btw. just lazy to make 20-pic imagesets rn lmao


End file.
